Corpse Groom
by 15animefreak15
Summary: Corpse Bride/Homestuck crossover AU. Primary pairings: forced!Jake/Jane and Dirk/Jake. Something mysterious is happening in a small English town. A wedding is to be had on the morrow but the groom has strangely disappeared. A new suitor comes to town and threatens to take the groom's bride for his own. But are his intentions as charitable as they appear? And where is the groom?
1. Prologue

**After a long, long hiatus on my writing I am back! And yes, people, I return as a Homestuck. Rejoice, cry, nothing will change that.**

**Of course I return with a crossover AU of my OTP. I was inspired by art made on Tumblr and the whole thing spiraled out of control from there. I have already written parodies of all the songs to fit the AU and if you would like to see them or the original art, just visit the blog I made for this AU: corpse-groom-au . tumblr . com (remove spaces)**

**This is going to be a Homestuck/Corpse Bride crossover AU. The three big players will be Dirk as Emily, Jake as Victor and Jane as Victoria. All will be a bit OOC, not due to being like the original characters, but due to the setting. Victorian times is not when people would be building robots or rapping, sorry Dirk.**

**So anyway, here's the prologue and who knows, I might get chapter one up later today. Enjoy~**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck or Corpse Bride, they belong to Andrew Hussie and Tim Burton, respectively.**

* * *

_"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows._  
_Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine._  
_With this candle, I will light your way into darkness._  
_With this ring, I ask you to be mine."_

Beautiful wedding vows for a beautiful occasion. The heavenly matrimony between two people. The joining of hearts and lives into a binding contract that will keep them together until the end of their days. Powerful vows, each line with a meaning and symbolism all its own. Yet like all powerful things, these vows carry superstition as well. Whispers of misunderstandings and curses; standard fare for the day and age.

For now let the superstition lie and focus on what the vows were always meant to represent. Physical objects reflecting metaphorical virtues and promises to the betrothed. A hand, a cup, a candle and a ring. Not much in common except for one thing. Each is offered by the pair in turn but rarely must their acceptance be earned.

_"With this hand, I will lift your sorrows."_

Hands are one of the most important parts of the human anatomy. Without them the race would return to the level of beasts, be absolutely helpless in a world of teeth and claws. The pair offers their hands to the other, the highest symbol of trust and vulnerability. Giving their abilities to their partner and taking some of the weight off their shoulders and onto their own. Their hands shall grasp and touch and hold, pulling up the corners of lips to bring smiles onto faces. Each will see to it their love is never dragged down by sorrow for long.

_"Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine."_

Compared to hands, cups are a simple trinket. No matter the materials, it is just another object. What matters are the contents; similarly, the contents of a person. By filling the shared cup with wine, a promise is made to never allow the other to feel empty. The love and body shall be nourished and their shared life will be brimming with joy. They will both drink from the cup but at the end one will always be waiting to fill it again for their partner.

_"With this candle, I will light your way into darkness."_

Life is a terrifying, exhausting thing. It is no wonder so many die every day of all ages and backgrounds. The path through it is dim and shadowed with randomly scattered patches of sunlight. The unknown future and dreary past make the going arduous and difficult. The lover appears with a lit candle from the gloom. The pair link arms and stride together along the path, the tiny flame of the candle flickering but never dying out. Neither stray from the other no matter the danger and if one happens to trip and fall, the other is there to help them up again. Through their darkest times they shall never be alone, for their love is standing just behind with a burning candle.

_"With this ring, I ask you to be mine."_

The final line of the vows as the groom slips a ring onto his partner's finger. A ring of any value still holds the same weight so long as the hands holding it are true. The hands may shake or sweat or even drop the ring, but honest hands will never quit. They will gently hold their beringed brethren and all misgivings shall be forgotten in the wake of acceptance and relief. A ring around the lovers, enclosing them together. The ribbon tied around their matrimonial contract. By uttering the words "I do" it is signed and the pair are bound forevermore until death do they part. The ring shall shine and glimmer as a reminder of their promises to one another. A treasure like no other to be cherished for years to come.

Yet simmering beneath all of this love, happiness and honesty is superstition, doubt and worry. Vows and matrimony are powerful things, as stated prior. Those with untrue and dishonest intentions may find themselves at the mercy of the supernatural. Throwing such words around with little thought or consideration is asking for trouble. Gibly offering rings to anyone but the partner is the same as walking blindly into a bear cave. One can expect nothing less than dark results when they forget their place in the world.

Yet some dark results may turn out a lighter shade indeed. One story in particular reflects this and proves superstition to be more than mere fantasy and whimsy. An old tale set in Victorian times. A mysterious spectacle that occurred in a small town tucked away in England's countryside.

A hand that lifted sorrows.

A candle that searched for its light.

A cup that could never be filled enough.

And a ring asking one too many for their hand.

A story of a young man with a thirst for adventure, a young lady longing for love, a man lost in his greed and a soul seeking a guide through the darkness.

This is the story of the Corpse Groom.


	2. High Class

**The long-awaited first (second if you count the prologue :P) chapter of Corpse Groom! For those of you late to the party, this is a crossover AU fic based off some lovely art by ket3 and my-friend-the-frog on Tumblr. Their stuff is amazing, go check it out!**

**Also, this story wouldn't be half as good as it is without the help of my beta and artist, walkinganddead on Tumblr. Serious props to this girl. Go follow the shit out of her- after you read this. ;D**

**This will also be cross-posted to Tumblr and AO3; you can find the links on my page!**

**Check the Tumblr post for a lovely music selection to accompany your reading. ;3**

**If you're reading this here, you're missing out! The Tumblr and AO3 versions have art in the chapter and you should really go take a look!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck or Corpse Bride, they belong to Andrew Hussie and Tim Burton, respectively.**

* * *

It was a cloudy, cold, dreary day in the English countryside. A brisk wind blew through the skeletal remnants of tree branches and urged even the most robust villager to bulk up before heading outside. It looked like rain, but then, nearly every day looked like rain when one lived within the boundaries of the British Isles. The earth was still damp and sodden from previous storms. It helped to create a musty reek of decay that permeated the surrounding forest.

Leaves fell to the ground, victims of the chill, drawing out insects to feast on the rot, and in turn drawing out the other creatures who were not as interested in the fungi and rot. Spiders cast their dew-lined webs in the hollows of trees, creating canopies in between branches with an enviable finesse. They could lay in wait for days for a meal to arrive, harboring the patience of a saint. At long last they would invite the fly or moth into their parlor and sit down to dinner.

Unfortunately for one little, blue spider perched on its nest high in a tree, its dinner was about to be interrupted. From the other side of its cozy web rose a massive face bearing a lopsided, buck-toothed grin. Were the spider able to bear its emotions in a more human manner, it would probably be doing flying pirouettes off the tree in its terror. As it was, the poor arachnid could only stare at the face with its beady eyes as two hands enclosed it in a glass prison. Okay, fancy terms aside, the giant, derpy face had just pushed it into a jar.

"Gotcha! Golly, aren't you just one darling little bugger? I can't wait to- woah, woah- BLOODY-!" There was a loud crash as the body attached to the giant face hit the ground, sending leaves flying up. Thankfully, it held a grip on the jar so it did not smash to pieces. The body sat up with a groan, rubbing at his sore back and giving a wince. "Urgh, you need to hold onto the tree with at least one hand at all times, Jake English. Why do you always forget...?"

The body, human, Jake English, brushed some dead leaves out of his black hair as he stood. He paused and attempted to smooth it back into a more presentable look, but wound up failing miserably. The flyaway locks simply refused to work with him on even his best days. Shrugging it off, Jake snatched up the musket he had leaned against the tree and wandered off to find a more suitable location to interact with his little friend. It did not take long, for the forest was practically littered with plenty of stones and boulders to rest on.

Setting the musket aside, he hopped onto a particularly flat one and sat with crossed legs. Still bearing a goofy grin, Jake gripped the jar in his hands and slowly rotated it, leaning in until his nose was almost pressed against the glass. "Oh what a sky blue beauty you are. Don't mind me, dearie, just getting a closer look..." The spider peered back at him from within the glass and his emerald eyes lit up excitedly, glasses slipping down his nose a bit. "Oh, aren't you just lovely? Hold still now while I immortalize it with ink and paper. It won't take but a moment, I promise!"

Practically giddy with excitement, Jake set the jar aside. He dug through his satchel for his sketch book, quill and ink pot, setting each item down carefully on the rock. "I prefer doing this at home really but father would be so upset if he found me sneaking more spiders into the manor..." Moving the sketch book to his lap, he flipped to a blank page that was eager and ready for the touch of quill tip. At least his impromptu fall had not busted the quill or ink pot this time.

Jake unscrewed the cap of the little pot and dipped his quill in, scraping off a bit of the excess liquid. No splatters on his masterpiece, no siree. A careful touch was necessary or the tip might break. Just the right amount of pressure and the correct angle to make thin lines, fat lines, beautiful curves and loops and…Oh, no, that…Well…Huh.

He drew back, regarding his work with scrutiny. Maybe if he tried a different style. Determined, Jake pushed his spectacles back up his nose, accidentally smearing ink on his face in the process. He flipped to a fresh page and tried again. He channeled every ounce of his concentration into it, eyes squinting and tongue poking out from between pale lips. Occasionally green eyes would glance at the arachnid sitting in its jar, likely bored to death, for a quick reference. One more line here, a curve there and...

That, did not look much like a spider. Or anything, really. A lump of coal covered in hair, perhaps. Oh dash it all. Jake grimaced and returned the quill to its resting place, sighing. He had no idea why he kept trying to draw the alluring arachnids he so adored. Maybe so he could have them to look at after he had released his muse. Unfortunately, his skill with the quill was just plain awful no matter the subject or style. Whether it was writing a story about some grand adventure he would love to experience or trying to mimic his favorite creatures, it always came out worse than the contents of a chamber pot.

In an effort to cheer himself up, he re-focused his green-eyed gaze on something that was far more aesthetically pleasing. The blue arachnid perched in the jar on the rock has stopped scuttling about, realizing there was no escape. It now stared at him with its eight beady eyes, mandibles sliding along each other in a preening manner. Jake barely contained a happy squeak at how adorable it was. Still, it was about time to release the poor girl. She had been cooped up long enough.

"Sorry I couldn't do you justice, love. These hands are just much better at shooting pistols than drawing, I guess. I apologize that I can't put you back into your tree but I really can't risk another fall." Jake unscrewed the lid on the jar and set it on its side so the spider could crawl out of its own volition. As expected, it did not immediately react now that it had settled and gotten all comfy. He smiled and gave it a nudge with his finger to get it moving in the right direction. It skittered off across the rock and down its side, its admirer amazed by its blatant defiance of gravity. Jake kept his eyes on it until it disappeared amongst the fallen leaves and muck of the forest floor.

"I wish I could be like a spider. Graceful, silent, deadly... able to walk up walls and trees... Not to mention they don't have to worry about silly things like time and dates and- wait. Dates... why do I suddenly have the feeling I... oh, bollocks!" Jake gasped as he abruptly remembered what was scheduled today. For that morning, to be precise. "The rehearsal! Oh, God, father's going to kill me if I'm late!" He continued cursing under his breath as he gathered up his things, shoving them carelessly into his satchel. He then scrambled off the rock, but had barely gone a yard before he remembered the musket. If he forgot that then he would really be dead.

His Lordship English didn't approve of ventures into the woods unless they were justified by bloodshed. The musket was Jake's one alibi. He scurried back and tossed the strap of the musket over his shoulder before dashing off a second time. Thankfully, he had long since memorized all the trails in the woods due to his frequent visits. He loved searching for spiders or just exploring. He'd dreamt of climbing trees in the thick jungle of the Amazon, clambering across rocky escarpments in the African Savannah or trekking through the notorious Siberian tundra to parts unknown. Devoid of adventure as the English countryside could be, Jake did his damned best to make his own.

As a child and even a young teenager, his adventuring and exploring had been more widely accepted. Yet as he grew into early adulthood more than his father began to frown upon his hobbies. A man of his standing; nay, a man in that time period at all, had no business trouncing through the woods like a savage. No, Jake should have been brushing up on the art of running a business, keeping with the court and in succession courting the ladies of his caste. In all honesty, though, he could not care less about any of those "normal" ventures for a man his age.

Of course now he was currently dashing madly through the forest, dodging skeletal branches and tripping stones alike. Oh, he should have known it would be a bad idea to go looking for one more spider. He should have gone straight home to get ready. He cursed as a branch snagged his suit sleeve and promptly tore it. Another suit ruined and late on top of it; his father would have his head for sure this time. He groaned at the mere thought of having to deal with the hulking noble of a man. He could see the town in the distance. There was the old hut where that crazy fortune teller lived. As he neared it, he gave a wide berth to the old fortune tellers hut, wrinkling his nose at the smell of opium that always seemed to be about the place. Only a little ways now.

Jake burst out of the tree line with all the grace of a crippled buck and nearly fell down the slightly steep hill leading to the town chapel. He was forced to stumble to a halt near the entrance or have his face meet the ground. Utilizing the pause to regain some much needed breath, Jake's head whipped around at the loud creak of old doors being pushed open. Oh, no, just what he needed. Maybe if he acted like he had not seen him, he could just sort of fast walk down the path and-

"Ah, the young Master English."

Oh for the sake of Father Christmas, dog gone it. Forcing a friendly smile onto his face, Jake turned to meet the calm, crimson eyes of the town priest: Kankri Vantas. He was in his usual white robes with the red shoulder things that bore golden crosses, but was missing his hat and staff. Judging from the bags under his eyes and how mussed his black hair was, he had probably been up half the night writing this Sunday's sermon. Maybe Jake would get lucky and he would be too tired to hold him up for long.

"G-good morning, Father Vantas." Jake stammered, eyeing the path before him. An approving smile slipped onto the older man's face at the greeting. He was a stickler for manners and being proper, even more so than Jake's father. Being a gentleman was the best way to speed through any conversation with him.

"And a good morning to you. You are out early today. Not that I am saying it is a bad thing. 'The early bird catches the worm,' as the saying goes. Again, I am not claiming you were doing anything of the sort, it is just an analogy. Though I am curious as to what you have been up to looking so, well... do not take offense, Mr. English, but your suit is looking worse for the wear. I am not trying to force any appearance on you but-"

Oh, God, Jake could feel the tirade coming on he and quickly- but politely- interrupted the priest with an answer to his question. "Oh, uh, well you see I was just... doing a bit of... hunting? Yes, hunting! And I, well, I got a bit too into it, you know? The thrill of the hunt and chase and all that! Eheh... I was just heading home to get fixed up before, you know..." Jake rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, adjusting the musket strapped to his back. He really disliked the thing, much preferring his twin flintlock pistols.

The priest rose one single, black brow in response, disgruntled by Jake's interruption. Thankfully, rather than continuing his previous tangent, he moved on. "Ah, I see then, that is understandable. Not that anything you do requires understanding to be valid, of course. I have heard the game shows up more frequently at dawn and dusk, like fish. Still, I must question your judgment on choosing today of all days to go hunting in the wee hours of the morning. I am not claiming your judgment to be wrong or misguided, mind you, I am simply considering your best interests, Mr. English. In fact, I thought you were supposed to be meeting with the Crocker family at this time. Unless there was a reschedule I was not notified of, in which case, I apologize for my assumptions."

Jake wanted to smack his forehead but resisted the urge. It would likely spur yet another sermon about why one should not cause harm to themselves, light-hearted or not. No, he had to end the conversation so he could get going.

"Actually, Father Vantas, you're right! That meeting is today- er, right now- so I really must be going! I'm sorry we couldn't converse longer but, you know how it is. Places to run to, people to meet, rehearsals to do. Uh, so, I'll see you at said rehearsal, yes?" If one good thing could be said about Father Vantas it was that he respected punctuality, and would thankfully never intentionally make a poor man late, and that was what Jake was banking on at the moment.

Vantas sighed and shook his head.

"Jake." The use of his first name made Jake pause in surprise, blinking at him. The priest slowly made his way over to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "If you find your nerves getting the better of you, I am always here to talk. Not that I think you cannot handle things on your own. Marriage can be an intimidating thing, and if you need my help for guidance, I can understand that. So... if you ever want to come to me with questions and concerns on the most sacred of bonds, my doors are always open." The mellowed, crimson eyes met Jake's nervous green and he swallowed.

"Y... yes, thank you, Father Vantas..." What else was he supposed to say to that? Certainly, it reassured Jake a little to know someone understood his fears and was ready to back him up. Yet why did it have to be the priest that loved the sound of his own voice filling that position?

"Ah, I see. Well then, I suppose I shall bid you a good day, Mr. English. And good luck. Not that I think you need luck, as you are a very capable young man, I merely-" Whatever else he was starting to ramble about faded out as Jake turned around. He sped off again, down the well-beaten path to the ancient stone bridge. The stream flowing under it was probably freezing, but not cold enough to begin icing over. His shoes made loud tapping sounds as stone shifted to cobblestone and he entered the town itself. The sweet, natural decay of the forest was quickly replaced with the myriad of smells that was a human village.

Horrible scents of chimney smoke and waste mingled with the sweet perfumes of flowers and baked bread. The quiet of the forest gave way to the bustling chitter-chatter of people flitting between homes and stores like birds in the trees. Horses whinnied impatiently and stamped their hooves against the cobblestone floor. Stray cats and dogs wound around the feet of passerby and were promptly kicked away with a muttered curse. Jake slipped through the crowds with about as much grace as a crippled donkey. He practically ran over a child and nearly knocked an old lady onto her bum.

Everyone knew when the English heir was about because chaos tended to follow in his wake. An abrupt turn and the end of his musket smacked an older man in the back of his head. Jake swore he must have called out apologies a dozen times before he neared home. Unfortunately, the chaos finally managed to catch up to him and gave him a taste of his own medicine. A well-placed broom and two left feet later and Jake found himself laying on the ground in a pained heap. At least he had not landed on his face, so his glasses were safe.

"Oh, Jake, not again! I swear I sweep the same spot at the same time every day and somehow you manage to trip over my broom the same way every time. Maybe I should change my schedule just to save you the trouble..." The voice was familiar, feminine and smooth with an undercurrent mixture of concern and bemusement. Two familiar hands helped him back onto his feet, and he found himself face-to-face with Aradia Megido.

Jake's neighbor stood there with her usual broad, red-lipped smile. Her equally red eyes lined by thick lashes held only laughter and curiosity directed at her gawky, strange neighbor, as always. She threw a handful of her beautiful, ebony locks over her shoulder and Jake felt his heart do a little somersault. She was engaged, Jake quickly reminded himself, and just a friend. Even with the butterflies, he had to admit she was a welcome distraction compared to Kankri.

Even if it had come with the price of tripping over her broom which, as she had felt the need to point out, he tended to do nearly every day. At least her fiancé was not around to make fun of him for it. He was probably in the shop working on the clocks. Finding Aradia's smile infectious, Jake was soon grinning as well. He emitted a soft chuckle as he worked to adjust his glasses. "Yes, well, you know me. Two left feet and no idea how to use either. Adding obstacles is just asking for trouble. I'm really surprised I didn't fall over like a complete goof sooner, to be honest," he admitted sheepishly.

"I saw you running through town clucking apologies like a wild chicken. Late for something again, Jake?" she asked, letting out a little laughter. "I keep telling you to buy a pocket watch." She raised her eyebrows at him knowingly and gave a little gesture to the shiny clocks lined up neatly in her store window. "I would give you a discount on a really nice one," she said with a wink.

Jake let out a nervous chuckle of his own, trying to hide his embarrassment at falling flat on her doorstep, though knowing him Aradia was probably more than used to it. "Oh that's not necessary, horrible with time or not a real adventurer has no need for such things."

That only triggered one brow to rise, but she kept smiling all the same as she brushed a little dust off his jacket. "Yes well, all adventurers have to grow up sooner or later, and this a day you don't want to be late for mister."

"Oh come now, does everyone in town know about this rehearsal?"

"The town crier came through this morning with the announcement," she said. "I'm guessing you were out."

"That guy is a dick."

"The dickiest."

They both shared a good laugh at that before Jake returned to the previous topic. "Besides, weren't you the one who told me time is sort of not really important at all? That it's like a game almost?" He still had no clue what she meant by that, but his words made her pause and smile at him again.

"I did. But really only for those who know how to use it, Jake. For people like you, it's a lot more important to keep track of time because it likes to... slip away. As it is now." Aradia shot him a wink and though that usually would have made him blush, Jake only sighed. "Oh, goodness, Aradia, you're right! Shoot, I should really get going! But... oh, who am I kidding? Aradia, I'm more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of grandmothers in rocking chairs. I keep purposefully procrastinating and postponing the inevitable meet-up with Miss Crocker. I just... we've never even met, and suddenly we're supposed to get married! Tomorrow! It's all so overwhelming and-" Jake was silenced as Aradia pressed a finger to his lips, smile still locked onto her face. When he had quieted, she let the hand drop to his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"I know, Jake. It's hard. Hard and nobody understands. Nobles like you, who have their lives decided for them, it doesn't make marriage easy. I don't know what I'd have done if I was forced into a marriage with a complete stranger... But, you know, time is a funny thing," she began. Jake could not help but interject.

"Like a game?" he asked with his classic lopsided grin. Aradia laughed, but nodded.

"Yes, like a game. Who knows? Maybe the two of you will really hit it off, like Sollux and I did." Jake merely smiled and crossed his heart in response, drawing another giggle from her. "But really, Jake. Try not to obsess over it too much and just let the pieces fall where they will. I do hope you at least like her, for your sake. And maybe when the rehearsal is over, you can stop by to tell me how it all went? How pretty your wife-to-be is?" she asked with a wink.

Jake positively beamed at her and abruptly embraced the older woman. Aradia was taken aback by it, but returned the brief hug with a soft smile. He soon pulled away, because in all honesty that was considered a bit scandalous, but at the moment he did not really care. "Thank you, Aradia. You're such a good friend! Sorry we couldn't talk longer. I promise to stop by after the rehearsal. Goodbye!" Jake was already running again, waving to Aradia behind him as he turned the corner. Aradia waved back with a bit of giggling and shook her head. Boys would be boys, after all.

"AA so help me, I am going to murder thith cuckoo clock!" And if the sudden shouts and curses streaming out of her storefront were anything to go by, she should probably go check on her own hopeless case.

Meanwhile, Jake was finally stumbling up the massive stone stairs to the grand entrance of the English Manor. The structure was immense, probably the largest building in town, and incredibly old. It had housed his ancestors and their families, as well as their servants, for generations. Currently, it merely housed Lord English, Jake, and the few servants the two of them required. Jake did not bother knocking, wanting to sneak in and avoid his father at all costs.

The large doors creaked loudly and he whispered a curse as he slipped into the entrance hall. Spacious with a vaulted ceiling, grand staircase and marble floors. Paintings varying between ancestral portraits and fine art littered the walls and screamed of nobility, of high standing and equally high wealth. Every step Jake took seemed to echo in the emptiness but the hall appeared vacant at the moment. Perhaps his normally rotten luck was taking a turn for the better-

"JAKE GREGORY ENGLISH, WHERE IN GOD'S NAME HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Bollocks.

Jake froze mid-step as the house practically shook from his father's exclamation, which was really closer to a roar than anything else. He had even used his full name, oh Christ, he was so dead. The slightest quiver passing through his body, Jake shifted emerald eyes up, up, up to see none other than the mighty and powerful Lord English himself round the second floor corner in all his furious glory. To say the figure now standing at the top of the stairs and glowering down at him with nothing shy of disappointment and disgust was intimidating would be the understatement of the era.

Lord English was a near exact opposite of his gangly little son, the one cowering and shivering at the bottom of the stairs. A foot taller than anyone else in town and broad-shouldered, he filled out his massive frame to the fullest. A barrel chest spread out into muscular arms, much of his muscle mass concentrated in his upper body. His strong legs were nothing to sneeze at though and they nearly shook the ground as he started down the grand staircase. Crimson eyes and a balding head concealed with a powdered wig that was admittedly a bit dated, it did little to diminish how imposing of a man he was. A flowing waistcoat with an appallingly colorful trim and a golden staff completed the look of a rich man who believed he understood the art of everything but really knew so very, very little. Oh, Lord, that wig.

"F-father, I-"

"IF YOU INSIST ON SPEAKING TO ME, AT LEAST DO SO WITH STRENGTH AND CONFIDENCE YOU LOUT. I DID NOT RAISE A BABY TO BECOME A BIGGER BABY, I RAISED A BABY TO BECOME A MAN. YOUR BODY MAY NOT HAVE FILLED OUT YET BUT YOU CAN STILL BE A MAN ON THE INSIDE, DAMN IT ALL. NOW STAND STRAIGHT AND ANSWER ME." Lord English had come to a stop at the bottom, only a foot or two separating himself from his son. Jake did his best to quell his shaking and swallowed nervously, straightening his back in an effort to look brave.

"I-I- father, I- I mean, I was out hunting, you see, a-and... and I just lost track of time. I was on the trail of a large buck and was close, b-but I missed and then I realized I should have been home already. I'm really sorry, I'll go upstairs and change immediately and then apologize to the Crockers personally-"

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, SON, AS MUCH AS YOU HUNTING LIKE A REAL MAN PLEASES ME YOU COULD HAVE CHOSEN A BETTER TIME. YOU KNEW WHAT WE HAD PLANNED TODAY. NOT TO MENTION THE FACT YOU MISSED A KILL AS EASY AS A BUCK REALLY INFURIATES ME. WERE IT NOT FOR THE FACT OUR COMPANY HAD TO POSTPONE THE REHEARSAL AN HOUR DUE TO FAMILY PROBLEMS, I WOULD FORCE YOU TO SUFFER THROUGH IT LIKE THAT JUST TO SERVE AS PUNISHMENT. I AM STILL GOING TO PUNISH YOU FOR SUCH DISGRACE LATER BUT FOR NOW GO AND CHANGE BEFORE THEY ARRIVE."

Lord English was still glowering at his son in absolute distaste and contempt, but it seemed Jake was off the hook... for the moment. He certainly did not need to be dismissed twice. He stuttered out a "yes, father" and half-ran up the stairs. Jake did not dare to look back, knowing his father was watching him until he ducked into the cover and sanctuary of the second floor corridor. Releasing the breath he had been holding in throughout the entire conversation, he forced weak legs to carry him on down the hallway towards his bedroom. That, admittedly, could have gone a lot worse and he had truly caught a lucky break with the rehearsal delay. Part of him wondered what "family problems" could mean, but he shrugged it off as some kind of saving grace.

Jake barely spared the paintings and sculptures a glance as he passed them by. He had seen them his entire life, watched as his father's art collection grew. The man considered himself to be quite the connoisseur and even a master artist himself, though in reality he barely drew better than Jake. The only reason anyone ever conceded to his "masterpieces" even remotely resembling art was for fear of angering the powerful noble. Yes, the English family held a reputation nearly as large as Lord English himself. The family had practically started the town ages ago, founded it in a way and cemented their standing among the populace.

Jake remembered a time when the halls were always bustling with servants or guests. Even after the loss of his wife, Lord English continued throwing lavish parties that were common at the time. Rubbing elbows with the wealthy and elite, aristocrats just short of royalty but of the highest caliber. That had been years ago, though. Now they had a handful of servants, most of which stayed out of loyalty to the family name than anything else. Jake knew his father would never admit it, but they had fallen on hard times indeed. Rooms once occupied by guests of high standing now stood empty and bereft.

The manor, built to house many people, was now far too empty and lonely. Who could blame Jake for constantly slipping out of the house for a romp through the woods? It was better than laying about in his room all day with only the servants to talk to. Those that even bothered to interact with him outside of job requirements, anyway. Sombered by the conflict with his father, Jake sighed as he shuffled into his room. It was more than large enough to house two with a bed that could comfortably fit five and littered with a combination of fancy furniture and objects showcasing Jake's various interests.

His father had insisted on hanging up a few of his favorite art pieces on the walls and they clashed awfully with a few snapshots from Jake's childhood. The one over his cluttered desk was of Jake holding up his first kill, an expression of pride and mortification on his young face. He never could look at squirrels the same way again. Under it it was a smaller portrait of a small Jake standing beside a much older woman on the bridge. She wore spectacles as well and had long, flowing, black hair very similar to Jake's. As he carelessly leaned his musket against a wall and dropped his satchel beside the desk, Jake stared at the little picture for a few moments before dropping into the chair at his desk.

He rubbed his thumb over the glass with a forlorn sigh. "Oh, Grandma. I'm sure you'd know what to do about all of this. Father is just so desperate to keep us out of the poor house. I mean, I would probably be getting engaged soon anyway, but... it would be nice if it was for more than just money. All he ever does is use me and I'm just so...!" Jake's grip had tightened on the picture and he nearly threw it in his frustration, but managed to catch himself. No, it was the only thing he had left from his grandma and he would not ruin it. Lips quivering a bit with emotion, he got up from his chair. "I... I need some fresh air..." he whispered.

He leaned over the desk to tug open the ancient window. It was almost impossible to get a window in the English manor open at all. His only gave due to excessive use compared to the rest. A chilly, late autumn breeze immediately drifted into the room like a ghost and he breathed it in gladly. The mansion could get drafty yet still be very stuffy at the same time, so an intentional gust of fresh air was always nice.

Jake took a long, deep breath in an effort to smooth out his jumbled feelings. It worked, somewhat, and he decided more procrastination was in order. Yes, he could just observe the village while he waited for the inevitable to occur, no need to rush. He could see the clock shop, but Aradia was no longer sweeping outside. She must have finished up and headed in to check on her fiance.

Next to the clock shop was the fish market and, as he suspected, they were busy beheading the poor creatures. No one really seemed to be paying attention to the morbid display, though. Distinguished men greeted each other in the square and the town crier was making his usual rounds. The nerdy, lanky boy with the square glasses that looked sort of like him was always shouting about something or other. Ringing that annoying bell while he aired out all the village's dirtiest secrets. It was amusing... when the news was not about you. Curious, Jake decided to listen in on his latest bout of shouting.

"Jake English seen running through the town like a madman! Ran over Lady Paint like a train! Beat Sir Hussington with a musket! Openly courted and embraced the engaged Miss Megido in public! Was quite disheveled and likely fornicating with creatures out in the woods before his wedding rehearsal! Also- AGH!"

It seemed Aradia had taken it upon herself to go after John this time and rightly so, batting at his head with the same broom he had tripped over earlier. Jake was hardly paying attention, though, having gone white as a sheet. He buried his face in his hands and leaned back into his room with a groan. Just what he needed. His clumsy exploits blurted for all to hear and some new rumors to boot. Just bloody fantastic. How could his day get any worse?

Jake was answered by the chair leg breaking as he dropped a bit too heavily into the old antique. "Oh, bollocks-!" There was a loud crash as he desperately tried to grab onto his desk and only succeeded in pulling down a pile of books on top of him. Groaning in pain, he slowly stood and rubbed at his sore limbs. So many falls, so little time, Aradia would often tease him. Well, speaking of time, he could at least focus on changing. Jake turned around to go digging through his wardrobe and was met by a pale face and blank, purple eyes.

"HOLY MOTHER OF MARY MACKEREL, WHAT-?!"

Jake yelped and flailed back, unsettling the desk which he quickly gripped for dear life. His heart pounded wildly in his chest even as he realized it was just the butler. Kurloz Makara. The tall, slender man had been with their family since Jake could remember and had even helped to raise him after his mother's death. He was a little odd with his mussed, wild, black hair and near constant, vacant smile. A little frightening at times when you weren't expecting him to show up in your room in the middle of the night to present you with a shrunken head for good luck. Jake did not hold it against him, though, and almost felt comforted by the butler's abnormalities. They made him feel just a little less weird. Of course, the most shocking thing about the man was the fact he had no tongue. Lost it in some kind of twisted, secret accident before becoming their butler. Lord English knew about it but refused to tell his son.

"K-Kurloz, hello. My, you scared me out of my wits! Quite the prankster, aren't you? Come to check on me? Not to worry, I didn't break anything! ...this time. Heh." Jake rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment but Kurloz merely held an amused smile on his pale face. He then proceeded to use that weird hand language of his, seeing as he could not speak. Jake grimaced a bit and cocked his head, trying to recall what each gesture meant. One would think after living with it for so long he would know it by heart, but... it was so boring! Besides, he rarely "spoke" with Kurloz. Either the man acted on his father's orders or followed his own commands.

"Er... uh... y-yes, I know what time it is!" He was talking about time, right? Well, Kurloz had moved on to new gestures so Jake supposed he was on the right track. "Um... oh, yes, of course I'm ready. Never been more so!" He positively beamed at the other, but was met with a frown and even more hand signs. "What? I... no, I'm not grumpy, I just- oh. _Oh. _You mean... ah. I see..." _Frumpy. _One look down at his suit spoke volumes. The little tumble with his books had rumpled it quite a bit and it seemed he had managed to knock over the ink pot as well. If the black stains seeping into the material were anything to go by. Not to mention, of course, he had completely forgotten to change like his father had told him to. So it was already a mess from his run through the forest.

"Oh, tiddlywinks! Kurloz, could you-?" The butler was already on it, digging through the wardrobe for another suit. Jake preferred picking his own clothes but they usually were not satisfactory for his father. So for occasions like this he just let Kurloz choose them; he always seemed to know what Lord English would like. It sort of made Jake jealous. He wished he could understand his father so well. Then again, he could never stay like that for long when it came to Kurloz. He was just such a nice fellow and he always looked out for Jake, be it on his father's orders or not. Plus, he was missing his tongue for God's sake, how could anyone not pity the poor man?

"Thank you, Kurloz. Gosh, I suppose I'm just... absolutely flummoxed about all of this! I mean, I've never even met Miss Crocker and now we have to practice getting married? I don't know if I'm ready for this... To be honest, I'm not sure if I was ever going to be ready for this- oof!"

Jake was cut-off as a new outfit was shoved against his chest. He blinked a few times in surprise behind his glasses, staring up at that amused smile once again. With his hands free, Kurloz proceeded to sign again and Jake's face scrunched up. He was, maybe, trying to comfort him? Reassure him? Hell, he could have been scolding Jake and telling him to quit stalling and just change already, for all he knew. Sighing and shaking his head, Jake decided to do just that.

"Yes, yes, I suppose you are right. Nervous or not, there's no getting out of it. So.. I... might as well plunge in headlong! Right? It's what my father would want me to do, anyway..." He actually received a nod in response, which bolstered his confidence a little. "Thank you again, Kurloz. My, where would I be without a fantastic butler like you?" Jake chuckled and turned to set the clothes on his bed. With his back to the other, he missed the subtle shift in pale expression. A quirked lip to smirk and a squeeze of the eyes to narrow them, glinting purple in the drab shadows of the bedroom.

It immediately returned to a simple, patient smile as Jake glanced over his shoulder. Granted, he was not looking at Kurloz, but out the window. Storm clouds were gathering and everything was gray and bleak as ever here. He drew in another deep breath and released it in a fresh sigh.

_**Something told Jake it was going to be a long day.**_


End file.
